


The History of Us: Malade

by Daisy Gamgee (DaisyGamgee)



Series: The History of Us [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyGamgee/pseuds/Daisy%20Gamgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it take for a Hobbit to say "I'm not hungry"? Pippin is 8 years old, and won't eat his lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The History of Us: Malade

"No, thank you. I’m not hungry."

Merry dropped his fork in astonishment. He had never, never heard that phrase from anyone other than his second cousin Dolman, who’d gotten cracked soundly on the head with a board when the big tool shed was built and then was delirious for the rest of the day.

Pippin pushed his full plate away and laid his head on his folded arms on the table. Merry looked up at his mother, who frowned in concern.

"Peregrin, are you all right?" She pressed her hand against the boy’s forehead."You’re very warm, sweetheart. Does your tummy hurt?"

"Mmm-mmm," Pippin mumbled into the crook of his arm. He sagged, and Merry slipped an arm around his shoulders. Pippin leaned against Merry and sighed, raising his head and rubbing his eyes. "I don’t feel so good."

"He seemed fine this morning," Merry reported to his mother and smoothed Pippin’s hair off his brow. The lad was over-warm, and sweaty, too: his hair was damp.

"You should take him to lie down," Esmeralda said to her son. "Keep him quiet for awhile."

"Come on, Pip, let’s get you to bed," Merry pronounced with a pat to Pippin’s shoulder. "You’ll feel better if you sleep a bit."

"Nooo," Pippin protested, sitting up straighter. "We were going to pick gooseberries, Merry, you promised." His belly gurgled loudly. "’Cept I don’t think I want any just now." He plopped back against Merry’s side with a grunt.

"The gooseberries will still be there tomorrow," Merry reassured him, and stood, pulling Pippin’s chair out. "Come on. I’ll sit with you awhile." He got Pippin to his feet and took his hand. "All right?"

Esmeralda crossed her arms and frowned again. "I don’t like it that this came on so sudden. I’ll get the healer while you get Peregrin settled in bed," she said to Merry.

"I’m not sleepy," Pippin said irritably, but he held tight to Merry’s hand and followed him to a small bedroom next to Merry’s that was Pippin’s when he was at Brandy Hall. Merry had set it up for him last summer, when Pippin had come with his sisters for a visit in June and stayed through the middle of August; his sisters had gone home after two weeks. Saradoc has convinced the Tooks to let the boy stay, both to give them a holiday from his antics, and Merry his favorite companion; he had hoped that Merry would then keep Pippin, and himself by extension, out of trouble. The Tooks were still laughing about that these many months later.

Merry drew the curtains closed against the bright noon sunshine and pulled down the covers on the bed. "Up you go." He lifted Pippin onto the mattress, then reached in the dresser for a fresh nightshirt.

"It’s only midday," Pippin complained. "I’m not wearing a nightshirt already." He crossed his arms and pouted, but the effort cost him, and he flopped backwards onto the pillows. "It’s too hot in here."

"That’s because you have a fever. You won’t feel as warm if you wear this." Merry made the nightshirt dance across the duvet, which earned him a wan smile. He coaxed Pippin to sit up again, quickly pulled off the boy’s tunic, then popped the nightshirt over his head before he had a chance to object. "Off with your breeches, now."

Pippin obeyed, dropping them over the side of the bed, and laid back and allowed Merry to tuck him in. Now that he had a soft mattress beneath him and soft covers above, Pippin surrendered to his malaise and sank into the bed. "Yuck," he said sullenly.

Merry smiled encouragingly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you want a story?"

"No." Pippin yawned and rubbed his face with his sleeve.

"No?" This concerned Merry as much as Pippin’s refusal of his luncheon. He’d never known Pippin to turn down a tale; sleep through a few endings, yes, but never reject the offer of a story outright. He frowned and wiped sweat from Pippin’s face with a cloth from the nightstand. Pippin closed his eyes and drifted to sleep as Merry stroked his hair and sang a lullaby.

Merry settled himself at the foot of the bed and watched as Pippin slept. Every few minutes Pippin would twitch and jerk, and Merry would lean over and look carefully, worried, but Pippin would quiet again and resume his soft snoring. Merry began to doze, head nodding, and half-dreamed of gathering gooseberries with Pippin in the early evening chill.

"Merry."

Merry startled awake; Pippin lay on his side, face pale and sweaty, fists clutching the blankets.

"I’m going to be sick."

Merry quickly pulled the chamber pot from beneath the bed and held Pippin's head as he vomited. It was a surprising volume, considering Pippin had only had the two breakfasts and elevenses, and Pippin's whole body shuddered and cramped with the force of it. When he couldn't possibly have anything left in his stomach, he convulsed again and filled the pot with bile. He coughed and fell back into the pillows, tearful and exhausted.

"Oh, honey," Merry soothed, wiping Pippin's face and mouth with a fresh cloth. "Better?"

Pippin shook his head, lip quivering. His damp sweaty curls stuck to his forehead. "I feel dizzy and it smells awful."

"I'll take the pot out and get some cool water. Can you lie still for a few minutes?"

"All right." Pippin closed his eyes.

"Keep your eyes closed, and I'll be right back." Merry very carefully picked up the full, warm chamber pot. He was glad he'd left the door open so he didn't have to fumble with the latch.

"Ah, and there's a question answered," came a too-cheerful voice. The Brandy Hall healer, Hyacinthe Broadbelt, walked toward Merry, with her apprentice (whose name Merry couldn't remember because Hyacinthe just called her "girl") close on her heels. "Let's see it, then."

Merry wrinkled his nose as Hyacinthe looked thoughtfully at the contents of the pot. He couldn't imagine spending a lifetime examining vomit and stools and pus and afterbirths, and swallowed his own sudden urge to add to the mess.

"Well, Meriadoc, dispose of that down the privy. Come, girl, let's see what our young Took is ailing with." Hyacinthe turned the corner into Pippin's room. "Hullo, Master Peregrin!"

Merry disposed of the sick, cleaned out the pot to take back to the room, then washed his hands three times before he got rid of the smell to his satisfaction. He retrieved a large ewer of cool water and two cups from the kitchen and returned to the hallway.

"Go AWAY!" came a muffled shout. "Merry!"

"Botheration," Merry said and hastened his steps. He expected to see a struggle in progress, but saw only a weak Pippin with the covers up to his nose and a still-smiling Hyacinthe sitting patiently in the roomy rocking chair next to the bed.

"He's feeling a mite shy," the healer explained to Merry. "I'll send the girl out, little one, if that will make you feel less bashful. I really do need to see your belly." She leaned in conspiratorially toward Pippin and glanced over her shoulder at Merry. "Just between you and me, I've seen Meriadoc's belly, and his navel goes like this." She squiggled up her finger to look like a worm.

Pippin giggled, even though he was trying not to. The covers came down to his chin.

Merry slid the pot back under the bed, set the ewer and cups on the washstand, and resumed his post at Pippin's feet. He reached forward and squeezed Pippin's ankle gently, then tugged the covers down another couple of inches. "Let her look, Pip. I won't let her hurt you."

Pippin scowled, then snorted and flung the blankets to his waist. "Only because Merry said do," he said archly to Hyacinthe.

The healer smiled and poked Pippin's bellybutton playfully through his nightshirt. "No squigglies here," she said with a wink. "Let's have a look, then." She pulled up Pippin's shirt, allowing him his shyness as he clutched the blankets across his hips. "Does this hurt?" She tickled his tummy and he squirmed, trying not to smile. "All right, Little Bit, you hold still."

Pippin looked at the ceiling, sighing, his feet wiggling impatiently. "Ow!" He glared at Merry, his sworn protector.

"She didn't take a knife to you, goose," Merry said, grabbing Pippin's feet to quiet them. "Stop fussing so."

Hyacinthe tugged Pippin's nightshirt down and pulled the blankets up. "Safe again, young Master Took," she said with a pat on Pippin's chest. She turned to Merry. "I'll need a word with your mother. Off we go, girl." Hyacinthe stood and set off, "girl" in tow, to find Esmeralda.

"She pushed on my belly," Pippin said accusingly to Merry. "And it hurt. I could've told her it hurt. She didn't have to squish me. Now I have to pee really bad."

Merry tweaked the boy's toe with a smile. "If you can walk, I'll help you to the privy. Or you can use the pot. I washed it out."

Pippin wrinkled his nose. "Not the pot. I can walk." He sat up much too quickly and his face turned white. "Oh."

Merry pushed him back gently into the pillows. "The pot, then."

"Yuck. No." Pippin crossed his arms and rolled onto his side. "I don't have to now."

Merry pondered for a moment, knowing who'd be appointed to clean up if Pippin wet the bed. "Use the pot, or I'll pick you up like a baby and carry you to the privy," he threatened.

Pippin pulled the covers over his head and mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said I can't use the pot," came the muffled reply. "I get all…it won't…" He sighed. "I just can't."

Merry was surprised, given the compromising and occasionally odd circumstances under which Pippin had been known to relieve himself. He decided that arguing with him would be fruitless; the boy was ill, after all. "Hey, Pip. I'll take you to the privy, but not like a baby. I didn't really mean that. Come on." He scrambled off the bed and scooped his cousin up in sturdy arms, carefully tucking his nightshirt around him so he wouldn't feel awkward, then headed to the indoor privy down the hall.

Pippin laid his head heavily on Merry's shoulder and held on with an arm around Merry's waist. "I don't want to be ill. I want to go outside and play and …pooh."

When they reached the privy, Merry set Pippin gently on his feet and turned his back. Pippin swayed, dizzy, bumping into Merry's rump, and Merry caught him before he fell. "Try sitting down," Merry suggested.

"That's for girls," Pippin objected, but sat. "Don't look."

Merry turned his back again, trying not to smile over Pippin's newly acquired modesty, and waited until Pippin declared himself to be finished. "Anything else you need to do while we're in here?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No," Pippin replied indignantly; he got off the seat and stumbled again, falling to his knees.

"Dear Pippin," Merry said as he picked the boy up off the floor, "perhaps the pot would be best next time." He cradled his cousin in his arms and opened the door, pushing it with his foot.

Pippin pressed his forehead to Merry's cheek and closed his eyes. "I feel dizzy again."

His skin felt chilled and clammy against Merry's face. "Are you cold?"

"Hot," Pippin mumbled. "I'm thirsty."

Merry got him settled into bed again and brought him a cup of water. "Not so much," he warned when Pippin swiftly gulped down half the contents. "You'll be sick again." He took the cup and set it on the nightstand out of Pippin's reach, then sat on the bed next to him.

Esmeralda knocked softly at the doorframe. "How are you feeling, Peregrin?" She came in and sat in the rocking chair, gazing concernedly at her nephew.

Pippin shrugged and frowned. "Not so good," he admitted, and toyed with the hem of the blanket. "I made a lot of sick," he told her, and would have been proud if he hadn't been so weary.

"So I heard," she told him with a smile, and reached over to touch his forehead. "Ah, my poor baby." She caressed his cheek. "I need to talk with Meriadoc. Will you be all right for a moment by yourself?"

Pippin nodded, then closed his eyes. "I think I might sleep." He rubbed his eyes with his fist.

Esmeralda stood and gestured Merry to the hallway, shutting the door behind them. "He's got the pox," she told her son when they reached the end of the hall. Merry's eyes widened. "Hyacinthe isn't sure yet whether it's common pox or scarpox; he's only got a few spots. We should know in the morning. More spots will bloom over night and Hyacinthe will be able to tell by that." She took Merry's arm. "Go tell him good night. Hyacinthe will stay with him, she's resistant to the poxes. Everyone else needs to stay out of that room until we know."

"What? Why can't she tell? Scarpox could kill him, or scar him for life, or get into his eyes and blind him!" He wrung his hands in distress. "Mum! What are we going to do?"

"We can't do anything, love, but wait." She stroked Merry's arm. "It could just be the common pox, and he'll be fine in a week or so. If it isn't…" Esmeralda pinched his cheek. "I can't have you getting it, too, Merry-lad. So go wish him a good rest and Hyacinthe will watch him tonight."

"No!" Merry objected. "Pippin doesn't know her, he won't stay in there with her. What if he has a bad dream? What if he comes looking for me? I'll stay with him." He crossed his arms firmly.

"You will not," Esmeralda commanded. "You had common pox when you were a wee lad, but scarpox – no. You can't stay with him."

Merry set his jaw. "Mum, I got his sick on my hands and his sweat on my face. If he has scarpox, I'll probably get it anyway."

Esmeralda stomped her foot, clearly unhappy. "You're my only child. I cannot risk losing you."

"I can't risk losing Pippin." Merry rubbed his face. "I don't know how to explain it, Mum, but I can't leave him tonight. I just can't. He needs me." He shrugged, embarrassed. "I need him. He's my boy, Mum."

Esmeralda closed her eyes and sighed, feeling both her fear for her son and her son's love for his cousin. Pippin had grown up in Merry's shadow, followed him everywhere, gazed up at him with a love and trust that Esmeralda had only read about in fairy stories. And Merry returned that gaze, and cherished it, and treasured him.

"Well," she said reluctantly. "I don't like it. I don't like it at all. But you're probably right." She leaned forward to kiss Merry, but he stopped her.

"Just in case," he said in apology. "I can't lose you, either."

Esmeralda nodded. "We'd best be gathering up what you'll need, and I'll bring you a supper tray."

Pippin was sleeping again when Merry returned to the room, arms laden with linens, an extra chamber pot, and a few books. His mother would send "girl" around later with a bucket of water. Merry was grateful for big Shire feather beds; he didn't fancy a night in the rocking chair, no matter how comfortable it was to sit in.

The deep gold of late afternoon sunlight slipped around the edges of the curtains and Merry drew them open halfway, checking that the light didn't fall on Pippin's face and wake him. He was struck by how small and fragile Pippin seemed, tucked up in that large bed, and suddenly needed to make sure Pippin was breathing. Merry sat in the rocker and laid a tentative hand on Pippin's chest. The steady rise and fall reassured him, and he settled back into the chair with a satisfied sigh.

Pippin stirred, murmuring, and rolled onto his side toward Merry, fingers in his mouth. Merry smiled. He hadn't seen Pippin do that since he was five or six. He sobered then, knowing by that gesture how distressed Pippin felt. "Aye, me," he sighed, then froze when Pippin's eyelids fluttered.

"Merry." He didn't open his eyes fully.

"Yes, Pip."

"Don't leave me."

"I won't."

Pippin smiled and reached for Merry's hand. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Pip." He curled his fingers over the smaller hand.

"Good," Pippin sighed, and drifted back to sleep.  
***

"Just a little. That's enough." Merry pulled the cup away from Pippin's lips, earning him a pout.

"I'm thirsty." Pippin reached for the cup; Merry moved it from his reach. "Please?"

 

"In a minute. Are you hungry?"  
Pippin's eyes widened. "No." He covered his mouth with his hands, wrinkling his nose; Merry was glad he'd eaten his supper quickly while Pippin was sleeping.

"I'm not going to force you to eat," Merry said with a smile. "I never thought I'd say that to a hobbit." He touched Pippin's forehead and cheeks. "Too warm? Too cold? Two eyes? Tulips?"

Pippin giggled, even though Merry knew it wasn't a good joke. "My belly itches."

"Don't scratch," Merry warned. "It makes it worse."

"That's stupid." Pippin frowned. "I need to scratch it. An itch always feels better when you scratch it," he explained patiently, as though Merry were the younger one.

"Here, I'll show you something." Merry pushed his hair aside and pointed to a small, round scar on his temple. "See? I had common pox a long time ago and scratched when Mum said don't and it made a scar."

"So? It itches on my belly. Nobody's ever going to look at my belly." Pippin laid back again and reached toward the offending spot.

Merry grabbed his hand. "It makes a lot more spots if you scratch." He pulled the blankets up to Pippin's shoulders and settled the boy's hands on top of the covers. "I'll bet your wife someday will want to look at your belly, and then you'll be glad you didn't scratch and make scars."

Pippin looked horrified. "You have to let a girl look at you if you're married? Oh, no. No, no, no." He crossed his arms. "I don't want to talk about girls. I'm already sick."

Merry stifled a laugh. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Am I going to die?"

He asked casually, very matter-of-fact, as though he were asking Merry about a flower or what they were going to do for the day. Merry, stunned, stalled for time. "Why do you ask?"

Pippin shrugged. "You Mum looked unhappy and the healer looked worried and you've been frowning all day and nobody's come in and we haven't left the room and I'm not hungry." He yawned, "But I'm thirsty, and you said in a minute I could have a drink."

Merry returned the cup, and held it while Pippin drank, grateful for an extra moment to come up with an answer. He wouldn't lie to the boy, but somehow "Gee, Pip, I don't know" wasn't right. "Oi, stop," he said when Pippin tipped the cup back farther. He set the water aside and settled Pippin back into the bed. "It's time to sleep now."

"Will I die, Merry?"

Merry gave him the best answer he could. "Not if I have anything to do with it." He leaned over and kissed Pippin's forehead, and gathered the boy up in a hug.

Pippin hugged Merry's neck tight. "Are you sleeping here with me?"

"Yes," Merry answered, and disentangled himself. "Unless you'd be too crowded."

"No," Pippin responded with another yawn. He patted the bed next to him. "Lots of room."

Merry ruffled Pippin's hair with a smile. "Then move over, goose, you're right in the middle."

By the time Merry was ready for bed, Pippin was sleeping lightly, and Merry slipped beneath the blankets and groaned; he didn't realize how tired he was until he lay down. He stretched his arms above his head and settled one around Pippin, then closed his eyes.

"I shouldn't like to be dead, Merry," came a quavering whisper. "I'd miss you so bad." Pippin burst into sobs and his trembling shook the bed; he rolled to Merry's side and burrowed in close. "Would you miss me?"

Merry thought surely his heart would stop right then, and break into a thousand shards, one for each sob that wracked Pippin's shoulders. "I would miss you so much I would never be happy again," he said, and knew it to be true. His own tears fell hot against the pillow.

When Pippin had quieted, he reached up and patted Merry's tear-stained cheek. "Don't cry, Merry. I won't leave you."

Merry smiled and squeezed Pippin's shoulders, then pushed him back a bit to dry his tears. "That's good, because I'd be so sad if you left. Let's sleep now." He tried to set Pippin back on his own pillow, but Pippin wouldn't go, and he gave up and let the lad snuggle against him as he would. Soon his breathing slowed, and Merry fell asleep to the reassuring sound of Pippin's soft snores.  
***

The sun was brilliantly hot, like the bright noon of a high summer day, and Merry's sweat ran down his face and soaked into his shirt. It was too bright, too hot, the sweat flooded his eyes, and he couldn't see. "Pippin?" He knew his cousin would be into the basket of gooseberries they'd gathered, but he couldn't find him, or the basket, or the field, and the sun beat down so hard he thought he's burst into flame. Then the rains came, out of the clear white sky, and it was warm like blood.

Merry jerked awake, panting, soaked with perspiration, unsure where he was. The bundle tucked in at his side was so hot and damp he thought he was still dreaming. He started again in realization. "Oh, sweet mercy," he gasped. "Pippin. Pip. Wake up." Merry knew then that the sweat soaking him wasn't his own.

But Pippin didn't wake up; he lay like a used rag, fever raging, breathing raspy, sweat pouring from his skin. Merry sat up in a flash of panic, blind with fear; he had no idea what to do, and his hands shook when he touched Pippin's burning brow.

He remembered what his mother had done the last time he'd had a fever, when he'd had the wet cough a couple of winters ago, and scrambled off the bed to the washstand. The water in the basin was still cool. He quickly pulled wash cloths and towels from the dresser and soaked the cloths in the water. His hands trembled so badly he nearly knocked the basin to the floor when he removed the cloths.  
Merry sat on the bed and lifted Pippin in one arm; the limpness and weightless of him brought fresh tears to Merry's eyes. He pressed the cool cloths to Pippin's face and neck and was relieved to get a gasp in response. "All right, Pip, come back to me," he urged. "Wake up, sweetheart, I've got you, it's all right."

Pippin's eyelids fluttered open. "I'm hot," he said, voice hoarse and unsteady. "I'm so hot."

"I know, Pip." He felt Pippin stiffen in his arms, then his limbs jerked involuntarily, convulsing and pulling Pippin into a tight ball. Merry scooped him up and ran with him to his parents' room. He pounded on the door with his foot. "Mum! Please!"

Esmeralda opened the door, bleary eyed and confused, then snapped awake instantly when she saw Merry's burden. "What's going on?"

Merry choked back his panic and controlled himself with an effort. "He's hot, Mum, he's so hot, and he had a fit and I don't know what to do." His voice cracked and he fought back tears. "I'm so scared."

"We need to get him into a cold bath." Esmeralda pulled her robe on and pushed past her son to the hallway. "Come on, don't stand there like a frightened rabbit."

Merry recovered himself and followed his mother. She started the water, throwing open the sluice completely; when the tub was three-quarters full she closed it. "He won't like this, not a bit," she warned, "but it's what we must do. Here, get him in. No, don't fuss with his shirt, just dunk him."

Merry leaned over the tub, tears stinging his eyes, and lowered Pippin into the cold water. Pippin reared up with a shriek when the water hit his back and he clutched Merry's shirt, eyes wide and teeth chattering, nearly pulling Merry in with him. Merry stepped into the tub and sat, wincing at the cold water on his skin.

"Hold on, Pip, I've got you, it's going to be all right," Merry soothed. "Shh, shh." He held Pippin tight, soaking himself thoroughly; Pippin clung to him and shivered so hard that Merry thought he would break himself apart.

Esmeralda knelt on the other side of the tub and scooped cold water over Pippin's head, which made him cry out and sputter, but he didn't fight. His breathing was heavy and he coughed when another scoop of water flowed over his hair. "Stop it," he said weakly, and buried his face in Merry's shoulder while they waited for the cold water to bring the fever down.

Merry held Pippin still as his mother examined him, checking his eyes and skin color in the candlelight. She sat back with a satisfied grunt. "You can take him out," she pronounced with a pat to Merry's back. "I'll get some towels and robes."

Pippin was still shivering hard when Merry got him toweled off and wrapped in a robe and blanket. He sat on a low chair in the corner, eyes peeping through the blanket folds, while Merry dried and robed himself.

"I can walk," he protested when Merry picked him up; Merry felt him shaking through the layers of warm cloth.

"Hush up," Merry commanded, and carried him through the hall back to the bedroom. Someone, most likely his mother, hand changed the linens so that the bed was warm and dry once more, and a candle glowed on the washstand.

Pippin's teeth were still chattering, but more quietly, and Merry pressed his lips to the boy's forehead to reassure himself that he wasn't still burning up. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

Pippin shook his head, but rubbed his nose the way he'd always done when he was sleepy, and Merry smiled, calmed by the gesture. He hugged the boy close and sat in the big rocking chair, Pippin on his lap, and pulled a blanket from the bed to cover them. Merry propped his feet against the bed frame and rocked gently.

"I didn't like all that cold water," Pippin said into Merry's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Merry and snuggled close with a sigh.

"Me, neither," Merry agreed. "But you're not so hot now. That was a nasty fever. You scared me awful." He blinked back a few tears, glad Pippin couldn't see his face.

Pippin yawned wide, prompting Merry to yawn as well. "Are you going to get sick, too?" he asked Merry.

"I hope not."

"Don't worry, Merry," Pippin kissed Merry's cheek. "If you do, I'll take care of you. For the whole rest of forever, I'll take care of you."

Merry felt a lump in his throat and he rested his cheek against Pippin's damp curly head. "I'll take care of you, too, Pip. For always."

"Young Master Brandybuck."

Merry opened his eyes slowly. The morning sun streaming in the window made him blink. He was still in the rocking chair, Pippin in his arms and drooling in his sleep onto Merry's robe. Merry pressed his cheek to Pippin's forehead and smiled in relief at the normal temperature of his cousin's skin.

"I understand from your mother that it was a difficult night." Hyacinthe reached over and touched Merry's arm. "You did the right thing, you should be proud."

Merry shrugged. "I just wanted him to be all right."

"I know." She smiled fondly. "He's a lucky one, having you to look after him. Let's see what we're dealing with, shall we?"

"Hoy, Pip." Merry tapped Pippin's nose. "Wake up."

"No," Pippin replied. "No, I don't think I shall." He pulled the blanket over his face.

Merry pulled it down. "You can go back to sleep in a bit. Hyacinthe needs to see you."

The blanket went back up. "She's going to squish me again."

"No, I won't," Hyacinthe reassured him. "Unless you're squishier than you were yesterday."

A corner of the blanket moved to reveal one wary green eye. "I am not squishy," Pippin said firmly.

"Of course you are, dear, you're a hobbit." Hyacinthe winked at him. "You can stay where you are, Little Bit. I just need to look at your belly again."

Pippin looked up at Merry, who nodded. "Oh, all right," he said heavily, pushed the blanket down, and opened his robe to his waist. "But only because Merry…"

"Because Merry said do," she finished for him. "You should pay good attention to your Merry, he's very smart." She ran her hand over Pippin's belly, looking closely.

Pippin leaned against Merry's sturdy warmth. "That tickles."

"Good, I meant it to." Hyacinthe closed his robe and tweaked his nose. "I'd hate to think I tickled you for no good reason." She ruffled his hair, earning an affronted frown, which made her laugh. "Well, young Took, I'd say you should be up and about in a week or so, once the spots run their course and heal over. But no scratching, mind. A nice warm bath with some oil every day should help with that."

"A week?" Pippin wailed. "All the gooseberries will be gone!"

Merry looked at Hyacinthe in relieved surprise. "So it's not – he's not – it's just common pox?" He hugged Pippin hard, making him squeak. "Thank you," he said sincerely into Pippin's hair.

Hyacinthe ruffled Merry's hair, too. "I hope you're still thankful in a week when your young charge here is kicking through the walls to get out of the house. He's got a bad case of it, mind, which accounts for the fevers and vomiting, but unless I'm wrong – and I'm not – he'll be fine in a tenday at the most."

"You said a week!" Pippin struggled off the chair and stomped his foot. "Merry! Tell her a week!" He fell back into Merry's arms, pouting.

"And try to keep him quiet," Hyacinthe chuckled. She laid her hand on Pippin's head and bent to his eye level. "You mind Merry and your aunt and uncle, now, and get well so you can go back to terrorizing the countryside."

"Rmph," Pippin replied, but granted her a small smile.

"All right," Hyacinthe said, and stood. "I'll leave you to your Merry, then, lad." She winked at the both of them on her way out.

Merry smooched Pippin on the head and set him gently on the bed. "You need to rest, and get better, so next week we can climb that tree that my Da said don't."

Pippin crawled under the blankets and plopped backwards. "Merry."

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

Pippin didn't figure out until many years later why that made Merry cry.  
@@end@@


End file.
